David Rosenfelt - Play Dead

“There was a phone guy working on the line by the house. He was just leaving when I got outside, and when I called to him he drove off.”

“So?”

“So it’s seven o’clock in the morning. Has the phone company changed that much since I lived here?”

She calls a former colleague in the Paterson Police Department and asks him to send someone out to check the house for bugs. Then she says she’ll wait for him to arrive, so I have to assume he’s sending someone right away.

I think she’s overreacting to this and is being overly cautious. When she hangs up, I ask, “Do you want me to hang around? We could get back in bed.”

“Have a nice day, Andy.”

“I take it that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

I head for the office and an early meeting that Kevin has arranged with Dr. Gerald King, a prominent criminologist. We had sent Dr. King the photographs, toxicology, and other reports on the physical evidence that we received from Lawrence Koppell. Koppell had admitted that he didn’t have the resources to hire the top available experts to aid in the defense, so we decided to pay to get the best.

Dr. King is at least sixty years old, with degrees in everything from criminology to toxicology, to chemistry, and just about every other “y” I can think of. When I arrive he is drinking a cup of Edna’s coffee-or, more accurately, looking at it. My guess is, he’s anxious to take it back to the lab to find out what bizarre ingredients she puts into it to give it that lumpy texture and uniquely horrible taste.

I’m expecting a dry, tedious recitation of Dr. King’s findings, but that expectation lasts for about three seconds. “Events on that boat were not as the prosecution described them,” is how he begins.

Suffice it to say that he’s gotten my attention. “How were they different?”

Dr. King takes out the pictures of the inside of the boat, and those of Richard. He points to a substantial bruise on the left side of Richard’s head, which the prosecution claimed happened when Richard fell out of bed after being knocked out by the sleeping pills.

“This is not a bruise that could have been received from falling out of this bed.” He proceeds to talk about the pattern of the bruise and how it could only have been caused by a blunt, rounded instrument. Then he goes over to the couch and demonstrates that the fall from that height, and at that angle, would have had Richard land on the right side of his head, not the left.

It’s compelling but not overwhelming, and I’m hoping there’s more. There is.

He takes out the toxicology reports, which show an overdose of Amenipam, the sleeping pills that almost killed Richard. His estimate is that Richard would have been dead if the Coast Guard medics had gotten to him fifteen minutes later. “But he did not take those pills; the drug was either ingested in liquid form or, more likely, administered by injection after he was unconscious.”

This, if true and if it can be proven, is a blockbuster. “How do you know that?”

He points to a line on the toxicology report that shows Richard had traces of campene, a preservative used in test tubes. His theory is that liquid Amenipam was administered, that it was preserved in a test tube before that, and that that is why the trace was found in Richard’s blood.

“Could it have gotten there any other way?”

He nods. “Yes, which is why it didn’t attract much attention. It is found in shellfish.”

Kevin speaks for the first time. “So where does that leave us?”

“In great shape,” I say. “Richard is allergic to shellfish. I read it in the medical records.”

Dr. King smiles as if his student had just made him proud. “Exactly. And it is a severe allergy. If he wanted to commit suicide, all he would have had to do was have a shrimp cocktail.”

Dr. King leaves, and I have to restrain myself from giving Kevin a high five. This is a very substantial development and, if accurate, puts a major dent in the prosecution case. Coupled with Reggie’s existence, it could well be enough to get us a hearing. Kevin agrees and sets out to write a brief to file with the court.

My euphoria is short-lived, as Laurie shows up with Sergeant Allen Paulsen, one of the technology experts in the Paterson Police Department.

She comes right to the point. “Allen found a tap on your phone.”

He holds up a small, clear plastic bag with a device in it. “It looks new-no weather marks or anything. It could be a couple of weeks old, but based on what Laurie witnessed, my best guess is, it was installed this morning.”

“Are you here to check the office phones?”

He nods. “Right.”

“That’s not all, Andy,” she says.

I don’t like the way she said that. “It’s not?”

She turns to Paulsen, inviting him to explain.

He does, again holding up the device. “This device is state-of-the-art; I’ve never seen one like it. I would bet a month’s pay it’s government issue.”

Oh, shit. “Local, state, or federal?” I ask, in descending order of preference.

“Federal,” he says. “Definitely federal. Which agency, that I can’t tell you.”

Paulsen goes off to check the office and, after about fifteen minutes, tells me that the place is clean. He gives me the name of a guy and tells me that I should hire him to sweep my home and office for taps and bugs at least twice a week.

“They may not do it again,” he says. “Because now that we’ve removed the first tap, they’ll know you’re on to them.”

Paulsen leaves Laurie, Kevin, and me to ponder what all this means. In the brief time that I’ve been Richard’s lawyer, I’ve been shot at by two hoods, one of whom was supposed to be dead, and had my phone tapped by a government agency.

“And I don’t have a clue what the hell it’s all about.”

“It’s all about somebody wanting Richard Evans to stay in jail,” Laurie says.

I nod. “Or not wanting the case opened up. Kevin, as part of the brief you should include the attempt on my life, and the phone tap. Request that Richard be moved to a secure area of the prison, in solitary if necessary.”

“You think he’s in danger?” Kevin asks.

“If he’s dead there’s no case to open up,” Laurie points out.

“On the other hand, then there would be no reason to kill his lawyers,” I say.

I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy.

* * * * *

THERE IS NOT a very high standard for getting a hearing.

That’s the good news. The bad news is, the standard for prevailing in the hearing, for being granted a new trial, is quite high. The defense needs to show that the new evidence would do more than just create reasonable doubt; it must show that an injustice is likely being committed by keeping the accused incarcerated.

Kevin’s brief is terrific, which is no surprise, since he is probably the best I have ever seen at preparing them. The question we face is whether we should submit it now, since a hearing is likely to be held quickly if granted. By submitting the brief we are saying that we are ready to proceed, when in reality we are not.

Arguing for haste are the ominous things that have been happening to me, and the very real chance that Richard could be in jeopardy in prison. Without submitting the briefs, we have no chance to get him isolated, and therefore no way to get him out of grave danger.

After weighing all the factors, we send Kevin down to submit it while I meet with Sam Willis in his office, which is just down the hall from mine, to get a report on his computer investigation of the victim, Stacy Harriman.

I’m pleasantly surprised that he comes in all business, with no song or movie talking. He has her credit history, educational background, employment history, former addresses, birth certificate-the entire picture.